


you're banging on a heart of tin (please don't make too much of it baby)

by theyellowumbrella



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: F/F, Fluff, a smidge of angst if u squint, but it's literally so fluffy so dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:31:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyellowumbrella/pseuds/theyellowumbrella
Summary: Charity and Vanessa, the morning after the night before.





	you're banging on a heart of tin (please don't make too much of it baby)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm putting off updating fics that were meant to be updated months ago so! enjoy :-)

Charity wakes up late. She knows this not because she sees the time on the clock, or because there’s too much light pouring in through the window, or even because she can remember waking up earlier and falling back asleep, but because she wakes up wrapped tightly in Vanessa’s arms.

She always sleeps in late when she’s with Vanessa. She’s not sure what it is; normally, if anything, she wakes up too early — always alert, on edge, far too prone to having to get up and flee. The habit’s never really left her since her teenage years, and ever since her days of having to quickly run from wherever she’d set up shelter that night, she’s woken up far too early.

But for some reason, whenever her and Vanessa fall asleep together, she finds herself sleeping completely soundly. She reckons it’s probably something to do with Vanessa’s natural calming personality, or maybe her tendency to keep her arms wrapped so tightly around Charity that it makes it almost impossible for her to shift out of them.

She doesn’t want to consider the other, much scarier possibility that it could have something to do with the fact that Vanessa’s the first person she’s felt safe with in a long time — in years, or, now she considers it, maybe her whole life.

She wakes up wrapped in Vanessa’s arms, her whole body sleepy in the best way, and lets herself lie there for a good ten minutes before she tries to get up. Vanessa’s warm and soft and her hands are clutching at Charity’s top like she doesn’t want to let go, like holding on is the most important thing she could be doing, even when she’s not conscious to appreciate it.

These are the kind of small luxuries she’s never allowed herself to want. These are the kind of small luxuries she’s trying so desperately not to let herself get used to.

Eventually, she’s able to shift herself out of Vanessa’s death grip, because as much as she would love to laze about in bed curled against Vanessa all day, reality kicks in and God works against her, because it’s her turn to open the pub and she needs to make sure Noah got off to school alright.

She pulls Vanessa’s dressing gown on, ignoring the way it makes her stomach flutter like she’s twelve years old to wear something that Vanessa always does, and peeks her head in Johnny’s door, smiling when she sees him sleeping soundly in his bed, surrounded by mounds of teddy bears.

She’s halfway through her bowl of Coco Pops when Vanessa finally surfaces, looking almost maddeningly cute with her hair sticking up everywhere and her oversized sleep shirt. Vanessa shuffles over to where she’s sitting and buries her head in Charity’s hair for a brief second, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before moving sluggishly in the direction of the toaster.

“Morning, sunshine,” Charity says, unable to hold back the smile that comes with the sight of a just-awake Vanessa.

Vanessa lets out something of a grunt back that Charity supposes is supposed to count as a reply while she drops two slices of bread in the toaster. She turns around to face Charity, but her line of sight quickly changes from the stupid, soft look on Charity’s face to the second cup of tea sitting beside Charity’s own.

“One of those for me?” she asks, voice groggy. Charity can’t help but think it’s the cutest thing she’s heard in a long time.

“Depends,” she answers. She dips her spoon back into the bowl nonchalantly, scooping up another spoonful of cereal to avoid having to actually look at Vanessa. “You gonna run out on me before you can actually drink this one, or what?”

Vanessa narrows her eyes, but Charity can see the faint hints of a smile tugging at the ends of her lips. “This is my house,” she says. She walks over to the table, dropping down into the seat opposite Charity exhaustedly.

She looks Charity over a few times, brow furrowed, before she speaks. “That’s my dressing gown.”

“Nice one, Sherlock,” Charity says. She takes a long sip of her tea and quietly studies Vanessa’s face — the slope her nose; the hair brushing her cheeks; the frown lines etched ever so slightly into her forehead. It’s almost overwhelming, looking for too long.

She feels a sudden wave of emotion, a sudden urge to open her mouth and let everything she’s been pointedly _not_ telling Vanessa spill out. It would be so easy, she thinks. And Vanessa would … well, Vanessa would love it, probably — to hear her speak so openly about her feelings.

But she keeps quiet instead, because it would be so easy, but it would make things so complicated all at the same time. And, she thinks, as she silently observes Vanessa, drinking her tea and flicking through the newspaper, she wants to keep things as simple as she can for as long as she can.

“I, erm … I’ve got to get off,” she says, breaking the now comfortable silence that’s enveloped the room. That’s another thing: she doesn’t know when they started being the kind of people that had comfortable silences, but apparently they are.

Vanessa scrunches her face up in a way that pulls at Charity’s heart, an infuriatingly cute pout in pride of place on her lips. “Now? It’s still early.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ve got to open up and make sure Noah’s got off to school, so …”

It feels like an excuse — no, scrap that, it _is_ an excuse. She can feel herself trying to dig herself out of it, can practically hear the reasons forming in her brain. They’re stupid, she knows — _I’m too happy_ and _this is just casual_ and _I don’t want to lose you_ — but she’s so scared, terrified, and it’s like she’s standing over her body watching herself trying to mess this up.

“Noah’s a big boy,” Vanessa says, frowning. “And I’m sure Chas can get him to the bus on time.”

“Well, if you remember correctly, the last time I left him in Chas’ care he nearly got bulldozed to death by a psycho, so I’d rather not take my chances.”

Vanessa’s face falls at the snipe, even though it’s not directed at her, and Charity’s reminded not for the first time of how personally Vanessa takes everything. She’s so used to being a Dingle, to dealing with Dingles, that it’s hard to remember that there are other people out there — _most_ people out there, to be fair — that react … well, normally, to insults and jabs. It’s jarring, being with someone so emotive.

“Listen, I’ll see you later, yeah?” she says, forcing a smile onto her face that’s entirely for Vanessa’s sake. Vanessa’s frown begins to slowly slip off of her face, almost against her will, but she doesn’t smile. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll come see you on my lunch and let you make me something.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again, and Charity reckons that’s probably all that matters. “Wow,” she says. “Luckiest girl in the world, me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Charity says. She leans in and presses a kiss to Vanessa’s lip, chaste and gentle. She pulls back after a few seconds, tries to remember the way that Vanessa’s smile had felt against her own and the peaceful little look she catches in the second after she moves away.

She gets dressed in Vanessa’s bedroom, pulling one of the blouses out of Vanessa’s drawer that she knows she left there the week before and shimmying into a pair of jeans she knows Vanessa washed for her. She manages to successfully swallow down the panic that stabs at her when she realises that Vanessa keeps enough of her clothes to make up a full outfit, although barely.

Vanessa looks much more awake when she gets back downstairs again. She’s draped Charity’s coat across the back of the sofa and is sitting back in her chair, pen tapping against the page of her newspaper in thought as she contemplates the crossword.

“Right, well, later, yeah?” she asks.

Vanessa smiles in lieu of an answer, and with one more quick goodbye kiss, she’s wrapping herself in her jacket and out the door. When she shuts the door behind her, she spares a brief moment to lean against the wall of the house.

She lets out a shaky exhale. How the hell this is her life, how the hell _Vanessa_ is her … whatever, she’ll never know. She decides not to question it, and just appreciates it for whatever the hell it is.

**Author's Note:**

> speak to me on tumblr !! noahdingles.tumblr.com


End file.
